


Grisly

by toodelicatee



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Protective Avengers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:55:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toodelicatee/pseuds/toodelicatee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony unknowingly wears the same shirt Bruce's abusive Father used to wear all of the time, the doctor is left in shock, as horrific memories flood back. The Avengers take up the responsibility of making Bruce feel comfortable enough to open up about his childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nerves, Nerves

The team, disregarding Bruce and Clint, were drinking steadily in the kitchen. It had been Tony's idea, of course. They were to let loose and enjoy the evening; it was a celebration of sorts, to mark the ending of their physical and psychological assessments. Such evaluations had been gruelling and tiresome for all involved. No alcohol, no sugar, no late nights- for an entire fortnight. Evidently, Tony had been the most affected, which was why he was relishing this time now. He was on his third vodka and tonic (still completely sedate; he was no lightweight) whilst Natasha, Steve and Thor were only finishing their first.  
  
"I'm disappointed." Tony said flatly. "Honestly, Natasha, I would have expected better from you at least."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You're Russian, aren't you? Shouldn't you be drinking me under the table? And Thor- where's your stamina? Steve- well Steve, I've got to say that I'm proud. One vodka's pretty good for you. Well done."  
  
Steve just rolled his eyes. "We're all tired, and much preferring the pull of our beds than we are the pull of alcohol. What are we stood here celebrating anyway? Dr Banner and Clint haven't even completed their assessments yet."  
  
Tony shrugged. "They'll be done soon, then they can join..."  
  
"What? The party?" Natasha's voice was monotonous and sarcastic. Behind her tone was thinly veiled exhaustion. 

 At that moment, Clint came through the door. His short hair was ruffled in many unruly directions; he looked weary. Shortly behind him, trudged Bruce. His curls were distinctly more disturbed than the archer's hair. His cheeks were flushed red also, as though he'd ran up and down the Tower all evening.

"What have you two been doing? Fucking?" Tony commented, his voice sardonic.  
  
"That last assessment was..." Clint ran a hand through his hair, disarranging it further. Despite his unsettled appearance, his face and tone were not overtly fretful. Little more could be expected from a cold, masterfully-trained assassin. "It was intense."   
  
He was referencing the psychological tests. They consisted of enervating questions concerning childhood experiences, the loss of loved ones and a whole host of other things they would have all preferred to remain undisclosed. Overall the aim was to survey whether or not the Avengers were fit enough, both mentally and physically.  
  
Tony reclined back against the counter. He was, surprisingly, feeling invigorated after the examination. It had been somewhat useful to speak about his usually taboo subjects, he dared to admit. They now seemed less intimidating. "Come and have a drink the two of you, see if you're any better at knocking them back than these pussies are. To think you all helped save New York, and are yet stumped by keeping up with me." He quickly drank the rest of the liquid in his glass.  
  
Clint accepted the offer gladly, moving into the kitchen, but Bruce remained where he was. Awkwardly stood, his hand brushed his stubbly cheek. "Erm... no thanks, I'm spent, I think I'm going straight to sleep. See you in the morning." And he left, rather urgently.  
  
"Clearly I'm not the only one who doesn't like your cocktails." Steve remarked.  
  
"They're not cocktails buddy," Tony smirked, "and I don't think that was the reason he was so eager to get to bed. Anyone else notice? The guy looked a mess. Bet he hulked out or something during the assessment."  
  
"That's not something to joke about." Steve said sharply. "And we would know if he had."  
  
"He didn't hulk out."

 All heads snapped to Clint with noticeable intrigue; the developed affinity each of them shared (although it was often buried deep) meant that concern was a frequent emotion amongst the Tower's inhabitants. It was currently running thick and high.

"Then why's he so edgy?" Tony inquired. The question sounded silly. Bruce was always edgy, for reasons unknown. "I mean, more so than he usually is."  
  
"He failed."  
  
An alarmed chorus of "What?" came then, causing Clint to put down his already empty glass. He exhaled slowly. "He passed the physical test, but when it came to the psychological stuff he failed. By a long shot, I think. So S.H.I.E.L.D declared him mentally unfit to be an Avenger."  
  
"What? That's crazy." Tony was outraged. "They can't just do that, I mean... surely, not."  
  
"He's asked to be tested again, in a few weeks. And they're giving him that opportunity. Let's hope he can pass next time."  
  
"All you have to do is answer questions- how could he have possibly failed?"  
  
Clint shrugged, his expression completely clueless: "No idea."  
  
"S.H.I.E.L.D hate him though, they don't trust him at all. They can't see past the Hulk. Maybe they rigged it so that he would fail."  
  
"Maybe." Steve chipped in. "That's a valid idea. And troubling to boot."  
  
"Or Dr Banner could simply be ill. Maybe he was feeling out of sorts and unable to put in much efforts." No one listened to Thor's suggestion, so he shrugged and decided to out-drink Tony, knocking back his vodka in one.

Tangerine rays crawled through the window. So far, the morning was relatively dull and dreary. The sun seemed to be having to make a conscious effort to warm up Manhattan, rather than it just happening naturally. The Avengers were still pondering the Bruce situation. They had all concluded that he was most certainly sane and therefore the only answer they could draw was that he was being cheated in some way.

"I mean, who would want their pillow over one of my cocktails right?" Tony was enjoying a coffee, dressed in a comfortable black and yellow shirt he'd had since early adulthood. He had no tasks nor meetings all day and so he was truly relishing the freedom. No fake grins, no suits and no _suit_ suits.   
  
"I thought you said they weren't cocktails." Steve interjected.  
  
"Oh God give me strength," Tony implored to the ceiling. "My sweet, simple-minded Steve, I was speaking figuratively. Jesus, you're as perceptive as a piece of bark."  
  
"Would you two stop it?" Natasha bit. Their bickering always frustrated her. Clint nodded in agreement at her request.  
  
"Maybe," Thor assumed the role of subject-changer, a role he had become very adept at, "Dr Banner wasn't feeling quite up to it, perhaps he was ill, and consequently unable to answer the questions..."

Abruptly, a hush fell over them as Bruce entered the room. His hair was damp from the shower, pricked up and around in an unorthodox manner. Unlike the night before, his face was clean-shaven, resulting in a more serene appearance. He wore his favourite purple shirt with grey trousers. As standard, he was barefoot. In the morning, just after waking, he did yoga. And obviously the task did not require shoes.

"Good morning, Dr Banner." Thor called to his friend, who was pouring chilled pineapple juice from the refrigerator. "Sleep well?" He was not as adept at acting as he was at changing the subject, obviously.  
  
"Fine, thanks. Did y..." However, Bruce cut his own sentence short. His eyes had caught sight of Tony, he stared unwaveringly at the man's outfit. His hands were suddenly clammy, sweat breaking from every pore in his body. He turned swiftly around so his team members could not see him. Furiously, he shook his hands, before putting them under the cold tap. His heart was picking up speed, dangerously fast. Under the impression he was in control, he sat down next to Steve, clearly looking away from Tony. He was shaking, every part of him, like a trodden-on leaf. His breathing was irregular as well as awkward. In spite of his attempts at appearing calm, the others soon noticed that something was out of place by the rapid rise and fall of his chest.  
  
"Dr Banner, are you all right?" Thor quizzed. "Would you like a glass of water or something?"  
  
"No I'm fine." He managed to breathe out, slowly opening his eye lids.   
  
"Bruce," Steve said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You're trembling. You're not fine."  
  
He then said solemnly, looking directly at Cap: "Get him out."  
  
"Who? Thor?"  
  
"No, Tony. Get Tony out." He closed his eyes once more, before meeting his friend's gaze again. "Please, Steve, just..."  
  
"What's up?" Bad timing was Tony's forte. He sat right on the desk in front of them.  
  
"I'm sorry... I can't..." Bruce stood up. He could not be in the same room as his friend, not when the man was wearing that shirt. It was what his Father used to wear- that damned black and yellow fabric. He swallowed, hoping to swallow the memories too.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I just, I can't be in the room with you right now." Bruce said simply. "It's not you. It's my fault, I just..."  
  
Tony was completely confused, his brow a furrowed mess. "Have I done something that I don't know about? What's up with you, Banner?"  
  
"That shirt, it's just... it doesn't matter. I'm going to finish something off, in the lab." And he left the room, leaving the remaining Avengers utterly baffled.  
  
  
  
  



	2. The Hell That Lingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand that a lot of people got confused with the last chapter! I'm so sorry, hopefully things will be cleared up in this one. Basically, the whole backstory is based on comic!Bruce whom I adore. He's so complex.  
> It also may be a bit triggering for some people so I'm just warning you guys to check the tags if you feel you might be triggered, I would hate for that to happen! I'm just starting off with fanfiction so narrative points, characters and dialogue in this are just me dipping my toes in the water. I plan to write so much more so hopefully I can improve and explore things further.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

"Maybe it's a mental breakdown, the lingering stress of the Hulk and everything." Clint suggested.

"Or the gamma's finally affected his mind." Natasha wondered.

Steve didn't like those ideas, he preferred his own. "Could be his way of dealing with New York, shutting down and..."

"Or Dr Banner could be ill..." Thor was certain; this was the third time of putting across the idea.

"Perhaps," Tony stood up, "it's not for us to speculate, it's his business." He received a number of baffled glances, until he finally shrugged. "Yeah, who am I kidding? Course I want to stick my nose in, what else is it for? I'll go speak to Banner. I've an idea how we can get him to talk."

There was absolute quiet in the lab. Tony entered cautiously, watching Bruce fiddle with a conical flask. He'd spent all evening wondering what the hell could be wrong with his friend. It just didn't make sense. Why did he flip at the sight of a random shirt? Maybe it wasn't random, Tony had decided, maybe it meant something to Bruce. It was possible he'd recognised it from somewhere, and horrid memories had surged back. Whatever the reason, Tony was frightened for him. He hadn't said that to anyone. He wouldn't. It didn't mean he couldn't fret, though, enough to have changed shirts. The terror in Bruce's eyes, the frantic panic, the sheer oddness of it all- something serious was certainly up.

"Hey buddy, nearly finished?" Bruce's eyes shot up from his task at hand. He looked fairly relieved. Maybe it was the changed shirt.

"Yeah, almost. I've just been running some trials."

"Cool." Tony sidled around the desk. "When you're done with that, we've gotta' do this team-building shit. Some kind of trust-exercise thing that Steve wants us to try. He said he did it in the war, helped or something. The guy's an idiot, I told him how useless it was, he betted against me- he said it would work, so now we all need to indulge him."

Bruce grinned. "It does sound pretty nonsensical."

"Exactly what I said.

"But sure, I'll indulge him."

 The atmosphere was tranquil at first. They asked simple questions to each other, nothing too heavy, and only about minor things. Bruce was calm, not minding it too much. It wasn't like he had to reveal anything that would be illuminating to his team mates; he could not stand it if he was exposed any more.

"Scariest moment?" Tony ventured, looking at the others. "Like, not just a bit edgy, I mean scared shitless?" The Avengers were nothing if not obvious, all eyes fell on one person. "Bruce, you want to go?"

Somehow, he knew this had been coming. Feeling awkwardness dance into the situation, he ducked his head for a second. "Oh um... I can't remember exactly..."

"Not a valid answer." Natasha tutted.

"I don't know, I can't..."

"I remember," Steve took over, "when I looked Bucky in the eyes, after they turned him into this... ruin of a man. It was horrifying, I won't forget that feeling in a hurry."

Tony took in a breath, and said quickly. "New York fucked me up pretty bad."

It was then Bruce realised. He knew what they were all doing- trying to get him to open up about his anxiety attack over the shirt, maybe about his failed psychological test too. Why else would the impassable Tony Stark confess such intimate matters? And what reason would Steve have to poke at that ancient tender scab concerning his wartime friend? They were attempting (futile efforts, yes) to make Bruce feel comfortable, an atmosphere of mutual trust and understanding, so that he too would confess.

Natasha's features faltered for the briefest of moments. "In the Red Room." Not much was revealed, that was not her nature, however the genuine look upon her features reassured the others that this was in fact one of her great fears.

Clint nodded, realising it was now his turn: "An enemy once threatened my family's safety. I've slept with one eye open ever since, and taken every precaution under the sun to ensure that they're protected when I'm not there."

"To see what my brother has become. That terror is a different kind." Thor did not care to elaborate. "Dr Banner, what about you?"

 _What an impossible position,_ Bruce thought. He could hardly refuse to answer when they had all done so eloquently. About personal issues. Perhaps, he decided, it would not be so awful to finally speak about... it. "I suppose the time I felt most afraid was when my Father... when he killed my Mother, right in front of me."

Nobody spoke; a dead silence spread across the room insidiously. Bruce continued, for reasons unknown to him. _Why was he speaking about this? Why was he trusting others with this... his burden?_   "I was twelve at the time. After ten years of him beating the shit out of us both, she finally built up the courage to pack up and get us out of there. And we could've gone anywhere. But he was home early, drunk as always... he smashed her head against the pavement six times; I can still remember how it sounded. It rings in my ears." His eyes were fixed on his hands, awkwardly folded in his lap, a mess of fingers. "Then he went inside, he just left her there. I tried to wake her up, but... her eyes were shot wide open-and right away I knew she was dead."

Tony's voice filled the ensuing silence. "He wore that shirt, didn't he? The one I was wearing earlier. That's why you freaked out?"

Bruce nodded. "He wore it all the time. I hadn't seen anything related to him in ages, and when I saw the same design shirt he used to wear... on _you_ \- it just brought everything back up."

"Jesus Christ," Clint murmured, "the evil bastard. He used to knock you around?"

Again, Bruce inclined his head. "And... other stuff." The other stuff he'd literally trained himself to forget. It had included hours of silent meditation, therapy and disassociation. He didn't delve into it; they knew exactly what he meant.

The light from the gas fire flickered intensely, it reflected off Thor's widened eyes, which were glazed. Amidst the orange glow, Tony looked ill. Sickened. Matching his disgust was Natasha- she had a vivid imagination, and the images percolating through her mind were despicable. On the other hand Steve just looked outraged. He didn't stand for this kind of bullying, especially on such a scale. He wasn't the type of guy to let it slide.

"Where is he now?"

"Yeah," Clint stood, "you don't have to worry about him ever making an appearance again, we'll..."

"He won't be making an appearance again." Bruce's voice was dangerously grave. There was a sense of chagrin in his tone, though he had forgotten he had an audience. He was speaking chiefly to himself. "I don't know what makes me worse- the fact I lied to the courts, and told them it was an accident, because I was too much of a coward to speak against him, or the fact that after he was institutionalised, I killed him."

Steve began."The Hulk did you a favour..."

"But it wasn't the Hulk- _I_ killed him. Me. Bruce. We were fighting in the graveyard and I just... I pushed him and he fell and hit his head." His smile was a dark, sardonic one. "Of course I left him there, bleeding out as he'd left my Mother. I repressed the memories, tried to tell myself we'd fought but someone else had finished the job. Drunken thieves, kids. Anyone but me."

He reclined in his seat, more comfortably than before. He didn't want approval nor consolation. The basic act of admittance was relief enough for him. He'd never have imagined it would be beneficial to speak these things aloud, but God, how it was. "And it messes with you, that kind of stuff doesn't leave you. In case you're wondering why I failed S.H.I.E.L.D's assessment, I couldn't answer their questions. It felt too, I don't know, intimate to be sharing it with a bunch of people I don't know."

"You're a good man, Dr Banner. Your Father- he wasn't even fit to be called that. Don't loathe yourself for an accident." Thor said steadily. "I'm not of this world, so I find it difficult to comprehend how a Father would want to do such things to his own child. It's as barbaric as any invasion." He strode toward Bruce, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder. "Brother Bruce, you are in the company of friends, here. No harm will become you like that again."

"I swear, bastards like that deserve my arrows in their fucking eyes." Clint nearly spat. "You did a good thing killing him, I know you're all remorseful, but I congratulate you Bruce. I really do. Don't fret about it, honestly. At least now he can never touch you again."

"Too damn right!" Steve exclaimed, bidding Thor and Clint goodnight as they departed. Cap had taken Bruce's account to heart. It gave him a kind of negative outlook on what he thought was beginning to look like an improved society. He leaned in close to Bruce, so only he could hear. "The things you've endured, I know they don't go away just because you share them with people. I understand that. But if you ever want to just..." He tried his utmost at an easing smile. "Know that I'm here to listen."

"Thanks Steve, but I'm okay." Bruce had some regret in opening up to the team- he now felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Still, he supposed the relief of not having things bottled up would compensate.

It felt unnervingly odd, when Natasha said in a voice that was not entirely impassive: "In my line of work, I've met a lot of people I thought were courageous. Now I wonder if wielding a gun requires courage at all. All they displayed was valour. It's different. It's not the same as bravery. To be violated and abused by a person who was supposed to care for you, all through your childhood, then keep it to yourself and carry on, trying to be a good man- that's a whole different kind of strength. And I think I admire it."

"I..."

"Stop before you say anything modest, I don't think it suits you."

"Well, thanks." He grinned.

"Any time." She stood, her eyes still trained on him. "Maybe not when you're all big and green, though."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Tony would wait until the others had left. Therefore it was little surprise when there was only the two of them remaining. He felt oddly uncomfortable; Tony hadn't really said a word throughout his revelation. No quips, nothing.

"I should get some sleep..." Bruce scratched the back of his head. He was not fond of this feeling. Exposition. _Say something,_ his eyes almost pleaded.

"No, wait."

"Yeah?"

Tony moved slowly across the room, stopping some distance away from where Bruce was sat. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He blurted out.

Those words Bruce had not expected to come from Tony Stark. Steve or Thor, fair enough, but from the mouth of Tony they seemed odd, desperate, sad.

"What for?"

"Oh come on Bruce." He sat down right next to him. "What do you think I'm sorry for? Never bothering to ask you why you were so reserved, never really giving a shit about what you were actually feeling. I'm also sorry for the fact you had to grow up the way you did."

"None of that's your fault." He tried to laugh it off. "Anyway, you've been through some heavy stuff..."

"Not quite like you."

"Afghanistan..."

"That was rough, but it doesn't really come close to your past: having a Father who beats you up and rapes you for as long as you can remember, a Father who kills your Mother in front of your fucking eyes."

"You forgot the part where I killed him."

"Stop it." Tony didn't mean to snap, but Bruce's self-loathing was infuriating. "Do you hear me? Don't you dare fault yourself for that, for anything."

" How can I not? Why do you think I hate the Other Guy so much. When I transform into him, it's like I'm transforming into my Father. It's a living hell. I'm a walking fault."

"No." Tony shook his head. There was a force in his eyes. "The Hulk, yeah, sometimes he's a little shit- shit being the operative word, little not being- but he's a hero. You dwell on the damage he causes but never on the good stuff, never on all the lives he's saved. Mine, for example."

"I know, I know... I just can't help it." For the first time, his eyes meet Tony's. "There are bad chemicals in my brain, even before the gamma accident. They've always been there. Ever since I was a kid. Now you know why. There's a reason I failed that test, I'm not well in my head." He was a stammering wreck, but at least what he was saying was real. His words were the truth and he felt his heart weigh less. Even the pools of the Other Guy deep within felt strangely sated. He'd never imagined how getting stuff out in the open could be so beneficial. "And I feel so dangerous."

Broad arms encircled him, pulling him in closer. It didn't feel as foreign as Bruce would have thought. He was tense at first, evidently, until his muscles gave in and he relaxed into the hold. That was what it was... Tony was holding him. It didn't offer him the escape he would have liked but he didn't mind. All that mattered was that someone was there and they knew that he was too. He wasn't some splash of darkness that nobody could see. He didn't have to burn himself up to be noticed. 

"One day, pretty soon," Tony whispered, "this world'll be so soft, you won't remember what it feels like to be a shell. I'll make sure I'm with you when you forget it."

"I hope so," and it had been a while since Bruce had trifled with hope. In that moment, it didn't seem so hollow.


End file.
